After Jo
by CrazyAbout
Summary: Jo's death was virtually ignored in canon as the team moved on. An injustice in my opinion and another missed opportunity.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue.**

**Harry.**

'There's a woman who also knows where the uranium is hidden,' Mani had told him. Bittersweet in its connotation.

'She's dead,' he'd replied, clearly not able to disguise how he'd felt and still did. Ruth, out there somewhere was lost to him forever. Safe and happily married, if Malcolm's searches were to be believed.

Lost maybe, but from the moment that she'd walked almost hesitantly into that dreadful room, small and frightened and completely unaware as to the game that Mani was playing, the stakes had risen one hundredfold. His death should it come was well overdue, whereas hers - never. At no matter what the cost to him personally, he'd known that he was going to protect her.

Mani who he'd once trusted, in what had been a theatre of war like non other, had known exactly which of his buttons to press and, by insinuating what in fact was the truth about their relationship, had inadvertently handed him a purpose. Time tended to play tricks on the love struck and he'd certainly been that. But now he knew that his longings for Ruth had been real, not something that he'd clung onto and embellished over the years, never to be voiced or proven. As clearly as he knew that Lucas and Ros were running out of time in which to find them.

That he'd been forced to watch Ruth being hurt in the process. Her screams and tears, heart wrenching as he played Mani at his own game, he would always regret, but never the chance that he'd been given to prove to her that he still loved her. One single word, hidden behind her hands. His name. 'Harry,' she'd said plaintively, her eyes still full of tears, as Mani had fallen to the ground, had given him just a sliver of hope. The last that he'd seen of her, as Ros had taken her to the waiting ambulance.

He could and maybe should have followed her, but to what purpose? Exhausted and dehydrated, 'no he was fine, he'd told a concerned Lucas, stubbornly refusing any help. Instead he'd gone home to shower and change, before he headed back to the grid.

Ros, who herself had lost so much, had recognised how he was feeling. 'We need to give Harry what he wants,' she'd told Lucas and Jo. But by sending Jo to talk to Ruth, the catalyst that had brought her back to him, had changed from what had been a small hill that he'd been preparing to climb, into a huge chasm. The moment that Ros had been forced into pulling the trigger.

**Ruth.**

The bag had always been packed. Hidden as it was, on the top shelf of Nico's wardrobe where no one other than her would notice it, she'd come to believe that maybe it wasn't necessary. Until. Moving faster than she had in years, with her mind racing, Nico was her only concern. Bright and beautiful with his whole life in front of him, she'd been living the impossible dream. Well part of it anyway, if she'd been able to forget the man that she'd left standing on the dockside. As she'd lain buried in George's arms and he'd told her that he loved her, it was Harry that had flooded her mind. This was what Harry had wanted to tell her. That and that she'd stopped him, was the cross that she'd nailed herself too, every time during the past two years, when George had made love to her.

Stepping off the plane into the dark grey skies of London, a green and pleasant land it wasn't. It was into an evolving nightmare that would see her losing George's trust, long before he was killed. The horror that was about to unfold, entirely of her own making.

That her first question to Malcolm had been 'how is he?' proved that she still cared about Harry didn't it? When she'd been forced into that ghastly room and seen him tied to a chair, clearly having been beaten to exhaustion, she'd known without a doubt that she still loved him.

Mani's insinuation that their relationship had been akin to Brief Encounter was true. That Harry had risen in her defence as she knew he would, whilst she'd shrunk in her chair, fearful of what else lay in store, was an inevitability.

'Do you love him?' Harry had asked her when they were finally on their own.

'I feel guilty,' she'd said, going on the defensive. The time she'd been away, having taught her to stand up for herself. But this was Harry who had always loved her and, still did if the look in his eyes were to be believed. The intimacy that they'd once shared, still burning brightly. Why when he clearly knew that she'd fallen into bed with George?Wondering if she'd ever be given the chance and, if she did, how she'd explain, had been blown away with the one single bullet to the back of George's head, as the guilt and the grief had engulfed her.


	2. Chapter 2

No matter that the circumstances had been traumatic, she was back where she belonged. With him. So why for the life of him when the grid had been empty, he'd called her into his office, rather then walking out to where she was sitting behind her desk, was beyond him? So soon after witnessing George die, her reaction to Jo's death had been heart breaking and he'd wanted nothing more than to put his arms around her. To say what? Made worse, because with the width of his desk between them, any interaction seemed official. She was starting to cry, long before she turned and walked away from him and he'd heard rather than seen her weeping, her head leaning against his wall.

That was the last that he'd seen or heard from her. Five times he'd tried to call, after which he'd left countless messages. The last one being that he was going to see Jo's mother, so he'd have his phone turned off for a while, but that he'd try her again later and _please _would she pick up.

Peace had eluded him as he'd tried to come to terms with what had happened and make some sense of it. Jo gone in the blink of an eye, had followed so many of the others who had been there before Ruth had left. Zaf, Fiona, Adam and now Jo. All dead and to what end. If there was one thing that he knew about Ruth, it was that she'd never have forgotten what she'd believed to be her friends. And then there was Malcolm, the one person that he knew she'd confided in, loved even. No longer there for her to lean on.

Now, two days later, he was beginning to wonder if Ruth would ever come back to the grid, or more importantly to him.

* * *

They'd sorted out their differences, Ros and Harry. They'd been forced too after Adam's death. It was that or drown in the sheer horror. Peas from very different pods, but destined to stand side by side, no matter what the cost to them personally. But the real turning point and with it, the long turned out hope that had returned to Harry's eyes, was when an unwilling Ruth had been dragged back into his life. 'She is home,' he'd said, turning away in answer to Jo's question.

Surprising then, when she walked back onto the grid, that Harry's office was empty. She'd fully expected to see Ruth and Harry, huddled together as though she'd never been away. Just what she didn't need when Lucas was spending more time away from the grid than on it, she went in search of Tariq.

'I've no idea where Ruth is. I haven't seen her since -.'

Ros knew what the since was. She had the hangover that proved it. 'I think that Harry's gone up to the roof terrace,' stood in her way. Emotionally banned from going there, what had once belonged exclusively to Harry and Ruth and, heaven help anyone who had gone up there and disturbed them, had become his solitary refuge. So whether she dared go up there and disturb him, she decided was best left until she'd made him a strong cup of coffee. Had it not been for knowing that Ruth was coming back the previous day, she very much doubted that he'd have come in either, after what had been a difficult conversation that he'd needed to have with Jo's distraught mother. Still needs must, she headed up the stairs.

Hands buried deep in his pockets and with his collar turned up, he cut a lonely figure. Her heart went out to him.

'Coffee,' she offered, forcing him to turn and face her, but most importantly to listen.

Lost was what she'd been imagining him to be, but this was more than that, he looked utterly stricken.

'She called me a heartless bastard and now she's not returning my calls,' brought back memories, as Ros gathered her thoughts and reminded him that at a time when she'd been hurting she'd called him far worse and look where they were now.

Cynic's maybe, both of them, but she and Harry had been born to work together she'd come to believe. Something that would never have happened before she'd been exiled after Yalta. Glued together after Connie's treachery, she'd found a way then and she needed to find a way now. It might have taken a bit of arm twisting, but Ruth had confessed to them that Harry had confided in her when he'd taken her to Baghdad, when surely he'd had plenty of other options. That screamed of a trust that went way beyond _I've got a secret,_ or something that got spilt during pillow talk. Difficult to imagine, but another thing that she'd probably prevented when she'd called Mace. Needs must or they'd both freeze to death, she decided on shock tactics.

'Adam and I slept together before I was exiled. I have no regrets Harry, whereas you will. Ruth needs to be told what happened after she was exiled, otherwise you'll lose her. She deserves the truth,' saw the glimmer of a spark, but no response. 'If she's not answering your calls it's because she's hurting. We need her back Harry, especially now that Lucas seems to be having, how should I put it? A less than professional relationship during working hours.' Did.

'You make it sound so easy,' and Ros sighed, knowing deep down how he was feeling. Real life wasn't easy. She'd been there. But this wasn't a time for sympathising. What she needed to do was to get Harry back and concentrating, not mooning about over something that was solvable.

'If it helps, I'll cover for you for a couple of days,' she offered.

How much more encouragement did he need? She was looking at it from Ruth's perspective as well, but with a clear head. So they'd both had a dreadful couple of days, but one or the other of them had to make a move, or Harry would be looking for a new soulmate and, God help them all if Ruth headed back to the continent.

Cruel to be kind, she turned away and left him.


	3. Chapter 3

There had been a night not long after she'd arrived in Polis when George had been working late and Nico was asleep. So in the hope of hearing the world news, or more precisely what was going on in Britain, she'd turned on the radio. Something that George always resented. Instead of finding a news channel, she'd listened to an expat, telling anyone who was prepared to listen, what she'd most missed when she'd left Britain. Wanting to turn it off, she'd become intrigued by the ordinary things that the woman had listed. Fish and chips, her neighbours who had apparently been lovely and her dog who she'd had to leave behind. She'd mentally assembled her own list, a complete contrast. Classical music, her dozens of books, the rain, ridiculous though that was and of course him. First and way above anything else, it would always be Harry.

So why hadn't she handled it better? Walking away from from him, when the look on his face had been pleading with her to stay with him had been inexcusable, given how she knew better than anyone, how the death of one of their own affected him. She'd heard his numerous messages and she wanted nothing more than to ring him, but before she did, she needed to come to terms with what had happened _and _to break the rules. To take her time. That precious commodity that they were never afforded. To come to terms with what had happened. A ridiculous suggestion that had been drummed up by those that had never loved someone, only to lose them in a way that they would never forget. She certainly wasn't going to be able to attend George's funeral, but at least she was able to do justice to her friend. Jo, a breath of fresh air, who whether she'd been sent or not, had persuaded her to see reason, at a time when she was still buried deep in her own misery, now gone from her life forever.

The church was surprisingly full, which allowed her to find a seat without feeling conspicuous. The tiny posy of flowers that she'd brought with her, amongst the more obvious exhibits that were lying alongside the still empty grave. The congregation, many of them Jo's age, were presumably friends from her school days or her time as a journalist. But it was Jo's mother that Ruth wanted to speak to and to tell what a wonderful person her daughter had been and how much she was going to miss her. Something that she'd been desperate to do on the day of Danny's funeral and had been denied. 'They'll be time to mourn Ruth,' Harry had told her. Well this time no one was going to stop her, not even Harry.

Using the stained glass windows and the music, as a distraction from the recurring manner of Jo's death, she wondered how many people had attended her memorial, or if they'd even had one? If so, who had done the reading, surely not Harry? Definitely not Ros, so maybe Malcolm? Branded a traitor and a murderess, she very much doubted she'd been remembered anywhere meaningful, other than in Harry's heart? Too many questions without answers. Adam, Zaf, Fiona and now Jo, all gone. She wasn't stupid enough to believe that that they were out there somewhere and that one day they'd miraculously walk back onto the grid. Harry was the only person that she truly trusted to tell her the truth. Get today over with and then maybe after a decent night's sleep, she'd find the strength to make that call.

* * *

She really should have been braver, but the funeral had taken it's toll. So after politely refusing the offer from Jo's mother that she was more than welcome to come back with the others, she headed to the safe house. Safe house, what a joke that was. Pokey dark and dismal, it smelt of neglect. She'd bet her bottom dollar that Harry hadn't chosen it. Kicking off her shoes and wishing she hadn't as the dust bounced around her feet, she went in search of a lifesaver. A cup of tea. She needed to make an effort and to get some food in, but before that, she needed time to think about what she wanted to say to Harry. Something that wouldn't sound like an accusation or a threat that would drive him away. She'd been handed her previous life back and had willingly taken it, but going back to work after what had happened to Jo, was beyond her. She picked up the phone and put it down. Again. What was she going to say? Fancy going for a drink Harry? I want to see you, so how about we meet where we used too? Were ridiculous, as was her dilemma as to how best to cope with the feelings that she still had for him.

He'd been into her house, just the once, on the night that he'd taken her out. They'd come so close to giving in to the feelings that had been building during the evening, with his talk of The Grand Tour and how he so obviously wanted her to go with him. They'd been standing in her kitchen, her making the coffee and him so close behind her that she'd felt his breath on her neck. Gentleman that he was, he'd asked her permission before he'd kissed her. Made some stupid joke as to how he was nervous and didn't want to push her. Now three years later, they were back to square one. Or at least she was. Teetering on the brink. Trying to separate the overwhelming desire to kiss him again, from the guilt she was feeling over George's and now Jo's deaths.

Another day, she had to hold out for another day, during which she needed to stop crying. Not very grown up and certainly not very professional when they were so short staffed and she was probably needed. Harry had certainly made it clear that she was. Which reminded her. Who on earth was the dark and mysterious Lucas? She'd been privy to all the waiting in the wings agents that Harry had stock piled in the dusty corners of his desk and, where had Tariq sprung from? Surely Malcolm was coping? More questions that needed answers, assuming that Harry would take her into his confidence as he always had and that he hadn't given up on her.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time that he arrived home he was frozen to the bone. He hated November he always had and this year was no different. For one thing it meant that he was a year older. What was it about women that left him standing? Ros, with her not so subtle hints was right though. No one other than him could help Ruth through the next days, weeks and please god not months, back to the happy and beautiful soul she'd once been. Jo who he'd threatened to send to Turkmenistan. Was she also somewhere in a better place, urging him to do the right thing? He liked to think that she was. He turned on his phone. Still no reply to his messages. He'd eaten nothing since breakfast, but he had no appetite, at least not for food. Gone were the days when he'd been able to tell his beloved dog that she'd been moved down the pecking order, by his analyst who'd stolen his heart. He kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat. He looked in the mirror for answers. How difficult could it be to say I'm sorry, as opposed to I never stopped loving you, which was impossible given the circumstances? There he was, doing it again. Talking to himself. Coffee that's what he needed and maybe forty winks. That and a hot shower and to change into something more casual. God forbid that he turned up on her doorstep looking like her section head on a mission.

He was panicking long before he pulled up in front of the house. But to find it in complete darkness with the curtains closed, set off alarm bells of a different kind. Where was she? It was way past seven? Had something happened to her? Deciding that he needed to be careful as well as respectful in case she'd gone to bed, he opened the front gate and crept down the side passage. Still no lights and the back garden was empty, although god knows why he was checking. He was just about to creep back in the direction that he'd come from and ring Malcolm, when he heard footsteps. He had no means of defending himself or more importantly her, apart from his guile. That would have to do. With his heart rate rising and with his back pinned firmly against the side wall, he sidled his way along until he rounded the front of the house.

Her shopping, her bag and, had he not grabbed hold of her, Ruth would have hit the deck in the same discarded heap. Believing that she was about to meet her maker as Harry loomed out of the darkness in front of her, the street light such as it was, made it impossible for her to see that it was him until it was too late.

'Get your bloody hands off me,' she yelled at him, her fists pummelling against his chest like pistons on a runaway train. The realisation as to what her life was going to be like from now on blinding her reason. Creeping about in the darkness, in a city where no one other than those she worked with would know who she really was, she fumbled for her keys.

Par for the course, he held back, other than to retrieve her shopping that was bouncing its way towards the gate. That and being temporarily lost for words, when she opened the front door and invited him in to where she was living.

'Ruth I'm so sorry, this is -'

'Awful,' she helped him out and covered up so much more than either of them was prepared to say at this stage, as he followed her through to the kitchen, determined to have a word with HR first thing in the morning and get her moved to somewhere more comfortable.

'Here let me help you,' wasn't rejected, as she pointed to the small wall cupboard that housed the two plates that they'd need if he was going to share her meal. Which unspoken appeared that he was, as she laid the small table for two. It had been more than three years since they'd sat either side of a table together and the contrast couldn't have been greater. A takeaway and a glass of water in a dingy safe house, screaming volumes of their combined losses.

'Why are you here Harry?' Wasn't what she planned to say and he shouldn't have answered by telling her that Ros had made him see sense, as they continued to eat, whilst barely looking at one another.

'I have so many questions spinning around in my head that it feels as though it will burst,' finally eased the tension and stopped Harry from saying that he really ought to be going.

'Allow me,' he offered, when she suggested that she make him a coffee. Moving until he was standing as close to her as he dared, without actually touching her, he reached across from behind her.

As the memories flooded back, she knew and he knew. But neither of them said anything or reacted. There was a journey in front of them that had to be taken. Do anything now and it would be over before it started. Sufficient though for the dam to break, and for Ruth's tears to come.

'Can you even begin to believe how scared I was in that warehouse? I'm struggling Harry, I really am and, I know you believe that this is all about what happened to George, which to some extent it is. But there's so much more. When I walked away from you, I truly believed that I'd never see you again. I was terrified as well as being heartbroken. I meant what I said Harry and I know you once thought me to be naiive. Well maybe I was, because I spent years imagining that nothing had changed. I used to picture you on the grid with Adam and Zaf. It's what kept me sane. Crazy wasn't it because I know they're both dead Harry and, presuming that they didn't die together, you got to process their deaths one at a time. I didn't have that chance. And now within days of me getting back, Jo's gone as well. Who next Harry you? And don't try telling me that it won't happen. I'm trying, I really am, but I can't seem to dig myself out of the nightmare that I'm living in. I'm sorry Harry, but I really don't think I can work for five anymore.'

'Ruth I do understand, really I do, but that's not what I'm here to talk about,' he heard himself saying. His hands clamped firmly by his sides to prevent himself from pulling her into his arms.

'Then what is Harry?' Hung in the air between them.


	5. Chapter 5

'I'm dealing with it,' he snapped at Ros who'd woken him up. Checking that as he wasn't on the grid when she'd arrived, that he'd taken her advice. Well he had. All he needed to do was to separate the personal from the professional when he told Ruth the truth. Get the words right, and hopefully she'd understand how difficult it had been. More importantly that she'd concentrate on the teams motives, rather than his weaknesses. Now awake and damn Ros for waking him up after what had only been a few hours sleep, he might as well have a shower and get ready. Ten o'clock he'd told Ruth that he'd pick her up.

For what is was worth, Ruth had been lying awake for the best part of the night as well, although she was already out of bed and enjoying a second cup of tea. Whatever Harry intended them doing, this wasn't a date. He'd promised her that it was only vaguely work related, but he'd looked nervous when she'd asked him where they were going. 'Wear a warm coat Ruth,' was the only clue she'd been given. Not that that was much help when she had so little in the way of clothes that weren't designed for the climate of Cyprus. That and the thought of spending an entire day in Harry's company, which she hadn't done since they'd been in Baghdad, and she was beginning to wonder why on earth she'd said yes.

_The first three months that had followed the morning of Ruth's exile._

How he'd even managed to drag himself back onto the grid nobody had understood, least of all him. Her desk already clear, her seat empty. A slap in the face so great, that without Malcolm's support he'd have quit there and then. Their hopes and their dreams that had been poured into that one solitary kiss as she'd acknowledged their love, torn away as she sacrificed herself to save him.

That the nightmare was only just beginning became obvious a month later, when Mace marched onto the grid. Supremely confident and to save his own skin, was hell bent on proving that Ruth wasn't dead.

'Wherever she is Harry, I'll find her,' had struck ice through his veins and sent his team into action. Jo, Ruth's closest friend, a child compared to him, had somehow found the words that had kept him sane as she'd kept him out of the firing line. But it was Adam who had broken the news that he didn't want to hear. That in order to keep Mace at bay, they needed to hold a proper funeral and more importantly that he had to attend.

For years and through god knows how many funerals he'd been able to keep his composure, but not this time. As he'd sat between Malcolm and Jo, in a church that had been chosen for its remoteness, unable to control the tears that had been coursing down his cheeks, his grief had been as real as the watery sun that had risen that morning. '_She was the__ innocent that we weren't able to protect, _Adam had said, and the moment that Jo had lent over and taken his hand in hers. A bond between them that had been designed to comfort him, but had enhanced a wound that was destined never to heal. It wasn't Jo's hand that he'd wanted to hold, it was Ruth's. Ruth who was out there somewhere, alone and probably scared. Whatever a solitary Mace who was standing in the wings might be thinking, he'd no longer cared. It might not be Ruth in the coffin, but he'd still been saying a final goodbye to the woman that he loved.

Time had slowly moved on. One day at a time had been his mantra and believing her to be safe had kept him on an even keel. Only to be rocked once more, when on a routine mission, Ros had overheard Mace in a conversation with his cronies, saying that the funeral had been a sham and that he was close to finding out where Ruth was. Something that had prompted him to ask Malcolm to find her. That she was well meant everything, that she was living in Cyprus had been a surprise, but that she'd got married to a man who had a child and was happy, had made him behave in a way that had left him feeling ashamed. Unable to control his curiosity, he'd watched her come home, presumably from work. Happy and more relaxed than he'd ever seen her. Dressed in next to nothing, for a man that surely couldn't love her as much as he did, had reawakened the pain and taken him to a place that had virtually broken him.

* * *

Whether it was because they were both tired or maybe because neither of them wanted the day to turn into one of recriminations, but by the time that Harry arrived to collect her, there was a general sense of calm. As Harry drove and London was replaced by rolling countryside, Ruth sat thinking. Was it so wrong to love someone as much as she still loved him, whilst knowing that in the space of three short years, that everyone who had been on the journey with them was dead?

'Are you warm enough,' he asked her, as he adjusted the heater. Worrying that she might be feeling the cold, having noticed that the temperature had dropped.

'I'm fine,' was pretty much all that passed by way of conversation as they both sat deep in their thoughts. Maybe an acceptance that this was what they both needed.

A leafy Surrey was replaced by the much more rural Sussex. The South Downs, bordered by the sea was where Harry was heading. Parking the car, he suggested that they find somewhere to have a drink. It was Sunday morning, once a time for rest and quiet contemplation, but they both doubted that the dozens of tourists that were pounding the pavements of the small village, were interested in anything other than some shopping followed by lunch.

Not giving Ruth time to reply or even put her hand on the door handle of the car, Harry opened it and held out his hand to help her, letting it go the instant that her feet hit the ground.

In a small tearoom, with Harry's insistence to the waitress that they didn't want anything other than a drink, because they were going to eat later, Ruth continued to let this play out. Any intervention on her part wouldn't be fair. Coffee and in her case tea, which he ordered without needing to ask her, she realised how little had changed.

Knowing exactly where they were going, Harry was feeling a lot less confident than Ruth was. Had he had the courage to drive straight there without stopping, he'd have done so.

'You have to tell her the truth Harry, _all_ of it,' Ros had said. 'This is Ruth Harry, so she might scream and shout a bit, but she'll understand.'


	6. Chapter 6

Ros was right, Ruth did have the right to know. Her comment that he'd been able to deal with the losses one at a time, whereas she was having to cope with them all in one go, hadn't been meant as criticism, he knew that. Nor was it a competition. So whatever her reaction, there was only one place that he could explain to her why they'd been driven to such lengths to make her disappear for ever.

Suggested by Adam, researched by Malcolm and sanctioned by him, the location had been a joint decision. Close enough if Harry wanted to visit, but far enough away that Mace would deem it not worth the effort. The tiny church, reputedly one of the smallest in England, with nothing other than a smattering of stone-built cottages enabling it to be designated a hamlet, was hidden amongst the South Downs and where they'd said their goodbyes.

The life and death roller coaster on the grid, firstly with the loss of Zaf and then Adam, plus his own incarceration thanks to Connie, had dictated that his visits had been sporadic. But it had been ever present in his thoughts, even through the darkest of times.

* * *

As he switched off the car engine, they turned to look at one other. Her eyes filled with so many questions, and his with a prayer that she'd cope with the revelation, whilst at the same time that he'd be able to do whatever she asked of him, to retain her trust and hopefully her love.

'All I ask Ruth is that you bear with me,' he told her, his heart now hammering in his chest as they walked across the damp grass. This time him daring to hang on to her hand, terrified that she'd turn and run. Close by but unseen a solitary blackbird was singing it's heart out. An unseen supporter urging him on.

From the moment that they'd stopped outside the church, Ruth had convinced herself that it was going to be Zaf's or Adam's last resting place, or someone else that had come and gone during the time that she'd been away. But in the farthest corner, amongst graves that bore the names of people who had died over centuries lay a single small stone. A fresh bunch of flowers that were changed weekly, no matter what the weather or at what time of year, a tribute to his enduring love and the life of Ruth Catherine Evershed.

Through the tears that were blurring her vision and her body that was starting to shake uncontrollably, Ruth's mind had shut down, other than knowing that she wanted Harry to hold her. As she turned towards him, the sheer relief of her unspoken request made him react. How long they stood there no longer mattering. She was wrapped inside his coat, her arms around his waist, his around her, her head against his chest. Small and beautiful and wonderfully alive. Explanations could come later. Most importantly, after all the horror that they'd witnessed, they were truly together.

'Time for lunch Ruth,' he whispered, wishing they could stand like this for ever, but knowing that their hosts would be waiting.

A small pooch, not unlike Scarlet who obviously recognised Harry, was followed by an elderly man that shook his hand warmly, as Harry introduced her as Rachel. Presuming that Harry had plucked the name out of thin air, she made a good fist at hiding her curiosity, until Grace, as the man's wife introduced herself, said 'how pleased they were, that they'd finally got to meet her.' A glass of sherry for her and a tot of whisky for Harry was produced without a question, after which the lunch that Harry had mentioned wasn't rushed. While Grace and Gerald, the only thing that she'd been able to glean, chatted away as though they knew who she was and presumed that she knew what they were talking about, she played along. Waiting for a moment when she could get Harry on his own and with it an explanation, with wishing that he'd told her over coffee rather than waiting, was taken out of their hands by one single statement.

'We changed the flowers again yesterday, just as you asked us James dear.'

Bear with me he'd asked her and she was, admirably. But as the tears welled up in her eyes again, he knew that he needed to intervene. He might be directing the conversation at their hosts, but she'd know he was talking to her. The moment of truth, when she'd realise just how difficult it had been for him, to in effect bury her, was lost when Ruth excused herself and asked if she could use the bathroom.

'This must be so difficult for her to cope with, it's such a shame that she was away at the time,' was followed by a short break until Ruth returned. As she settled herself down next to Harry and nodded that she was alright, he was confident that he could steer the conversation in a different direction. When he'd rung them to say that they'd be there in the morning, he hadn't banked on them saying that they must come to lunch as he usually did. Having met them on the day of Ruth's funeral, they'd insisted they take him under their wing. They looked after the church, they always had and were thrilled that they finally had a chance to meet one of the loved ones of those who were laid to rest. It had become a habit to call and see them over the years and to be able to talk about Ruth in a way that he couldn't with anyone else.

Now was his moment to take control, but without taking a breath, 'I'm sure that I don't need to tell you how much James loved your sister and still does,' Grace told Ruth. 'He's always here as regular as clockwork,' came from the woman that had seen Harry maybe a dozen times over the past three years.

If Ruth was in bits, then Harry was hyperventilating. Grace was getting carried away and he had no way of stopping her. Until realising that Rachel or more precisely Ruth was getting upset again, Gerald intervened.

'Perhaps we ought to make some coffee love,' he suggested. Drawing a halt to his wife's enthusiastic description of Harry's grief, and what he planned telling Ruth over the next couple of days.

The subterfuge needed to continue at least in the short term, so as they said their goodbyes, Harry promised that the next time he came to visit, he'd bring Rachel with him.

There were still so many questions that Ruth wanted to ask him, most of which he was dreading, but neither of them had the strength to cope with more than listening to the radio during the drive home. Grace had told her that Harry had never stopped loving her and still did, and she was hanging on to that thought for dear life as she closed her eyes. Completely unaware of the turmoil that Ro's words 'all of it' were still racing around in Harry's head. Mani might have been dispatched, but she needed to be told that he'd known where she was and had done nothing about it. His jealousy making him presume that she'd been happy, instead of reading between the lines and bringing her home. Saving her from the horror of witnessing George's death and the guilt that she was feeling. That and needing to go back there again tomorrow, so that she'd see what else he'd done.

'Home?' meant mine or yours, but it was a question that Ruth didn't hear. By the time that they reached outer London, she was sound asleep. God he was tired, he'd barely slept either. But did he dare wake her up outside his house rather than hers?


	7. Chapter 7

The closer that they'd got to the safe house, the more Harry had convinced himself that he couldn't leave Ruth. It had nothing to do with the way he felt about her - who was he kidding? Malcolm's house was his only other option, but he lived on the other side of the city and besides he was away. She'd been as tired as he was and hadn't argued. A positive that he'd held onto. Although, and there was always an although when it came to Ruth. It was probably more the idea of spending a night away from the safe house, than at his.

Even before she opened her eyes, Ruth remembered where she was. It was warm, it felt safe and it was Harry's. They'd arrived after dark and he'd been so lovely. Making her a cup of tea and a slice of toast whilst she'd had a shower, then walking her along the landing to where he made up the bed in his spare room. No pushing her to have a conversation, he'd politely wished her goodnight before he'd turned away and left her standing, with nothing other than a weak smile and a look in his eyes that was filled with the hope that he hadn't upset her.

Rolling over to get herself more comfortable, whilst at the same time wondering what she'd do all day once he'd gone into work, she saw the holdall that he'd promised he'd collect. He must have been out very early. She turned to her phone on the bedside table to check the time.

'Help yourself to a cuppa, I won't be long,' said his message. Short and to the point. Reminding her of another and more settled time and the dozens of messages that had passed between them. She stretched herself and closed her eyes again, berating herself for feeling so happy and wishing that this was for real, not just for a couple of days until she found herself somewhere else to live. Harry loved her and always had. For the moment it didn't matter that it was a woman that she'd never met until yesterday that had told her. Whatever else happened over the next few days, she was determined to let this play itself out.

Harry had been awake very early and with one look, had summed up the contents of his fridge and his cupboards as extremely wanting. Having been over to the safe house to collect Ruth's clothes and the other bits and bobs that he thought she might need, he'd grabbed a quick coffee and gone straight back out again to do some shopping. If he was going to spend another whole day with Ruth, or hopefully more, then he needed to make an effort. Knowing that she was still asleep, he'd been wracking his brain to remember what she ate for breakfast. Failing to remember, he'd opted for croissants, with an egg on toast as an alternative. Not very imaginative when he'd already made her toast the previous evening, but then he generally bought his breakfast on the way to work, or missed out all together.

'It's only me, the kettles on,' he called up the stairs. Relieved that with the sound of the water running, for the moment at least she hadn't grabbed her bag and left him, he turned his attention to laying the table.

'Aren't you going to be late for work?' followed her quiet 'good morning,' as Ruth walked into the warm kitchen. Heart stopping in his case as he turned to look at her, her still damp hair framing her face and that he hadn't heard her coming.

He wanted to say I'm all yours, but he couldn't. Opting for the less obvious, by just telling her that Ros would get in touch if he was needed. We need to talk went without saying, but neither of them said it. Harry worrying about the revelations that might drive her away from him again, and Ruth about the chances of heading back to bed, but this time to a different room. Having slept in one of Harry's shirts, she'd fallen asleep with images of Harry wrapped around her and had woken with the same thought. Increasing by the minute as she gazed across to where he was currently buttering toast, she was imagining it being like this every morning. Not with the imaginings of the time when she'd first met him, but with the reality that this was now possible and how right it suddenly felt. A thought that was causing her body to respond and her cheeks to flush, just as they'd done all those years ago whenever Harry had come anywhere near her. The only difference being that if she wasn't intending going back to five, then it didn't matter anymore, made worse or better she didn't know, because Harry was refusing to drop his gaze One of those rare and glorious moments that should have lead them into bed, but hadn't.

After breakfast and during the washing up that Harry insisted he would do, and after several turns of 'no you decide,' later, by which time Harry had won the battle, the decision was made. It was a battle that he'd needed to win, and he'd only offered her a choice so that she'd think she had one. The only stipulation being that wherever he was taking her, that she wouldn't be faced with another graveyard. Harry already knew exactly where they were going, so if she didn't mind, which she didn't, then it was Sussex again, but this time with a view of the sea. The fact that it would be grey and unwelcoming, rather than the crystal blue that Ruth had been used to couldn't be helped. It was the only place where he could start the conversation that he knew they had to have.

'Not only that, if I end up crying again, I can blame it on the wind,' Ruth said jokingly, eliciting one of Harry's wry smiles that she'd cultivated over the years. God she was starting to babble, get a grip, she told herself. Hopeless within seconds, as Harry leaned across in front of her, causing her breath to hitch as their bodies briefly touched.

'We'll need a flask,' she said rather obviously, disappointed that he hadn't kissed her, as he suggested that they take a warm drink and something to eat with them. Only because he could barely breathe by what had just happened.

Cliff top cafes tended to be closed in November, well at least the one that he had in mind would be. Retracing their footsteps from the previous day maybe, but gazing out over the channel had been something that he'd done on every occasion when he'd been to visit her grave. She'd been out there somewhere when he'd first made the pilgrimage and it had brought him comfort, until the moment that Malcolm had traced her, when it had brought him nothing but pain. A pain that he'd believed he deserved, which was why he'd still done it.

'Take this with you Ruth,' he told her, handing her one of his many warm scarves, as they piled their lunch and a few extra bits and bobs into a small bag. That he had a blanket in the back of the car to wrap around her if it was really cold, as well as the overnight bag that he always kept with him, she didn't need to know at this stage. He didn't want her to believe that this was forward planning, because it wasn't. Well not entirely. Without Ros pushing him, he'd have still been wavering.

That wasn't to say that he hadn't dreamt of a day when he and Ruth would be sitting there together. It would be on a Summer's day, when there would be dozens of small birds singing in a clear blue sky. When he would rip off the ties that were binding him and tell her that he loved her. But this was November and apart for a few brave seagulls that would anticipating the crusts from their sandwiches and never an optimist where Ruth was concerned, he had no great expectations. Although having said that, he was sure that he'd just seen a look of expectation in her eyes, and she already knew that he still loved her. Grace had seen to that ... so just maybe?


	8. Chapter 8

Climbing into the car Ruth was still babbling, certain that Harry had seen the expression on her face when she'd wanted him to kiss her. It was one thing to have stood in the graveyard and held each other close, but in his kitchen and without their coats on, surely he must have felt the same heat as she had? So why had he held back, it didn't make sense? She'd told him that she didn't want to return to work, and she didn't. Surely that wasn't the reason? If anything it paved the way. If there was one thing about Harry that had never wavered, it was that he generally got what he wanted. In this case her, as much as she wanted him. But, and it was a but that came with the same old hurdle. One or other of them had to make the first move or it would never happen. Laughable when after three years they both obviously felt the same and let's face it, were three years older.

'If it's time that you need Ruth, then you can have it,' referred to her return to the grid, but it wasn't helping. That and him repeating himself, by telling her that there was a lot more that he needed to tell her.

She had questions of her own. Particularly ones that had been niggling away at her since she'd seen her own grave. She'd supposedly committed suicide hadn't she, deemed a murderess, so why had they felt the need to hold a funeral? And why Sussex? Until yesterday she'd never known that he'd been there? Their relationship had always been based on there being more that they needed to talk about, so setting aside the thought of some poor soul or a pile of rocks which might be buried inside her coffin, she gave him the option.

'I'm not a child Harry. Whatever you need to tell me, I'm sure I'll be able to deal with it,' clearly wasn't enough to make him open up. This aggravating habit of being able to hide what he was thinking when he wanted too. Even from her. And he'd once called _her_ a stubborn mule. He was a bad as she was. Besides which she'd run out of time, as he'd turned off the road and into an empty car park.

'We're here,' he told her, parking the car as close as possible to the path, with Ruth now wondering if he was seriously suggesting they walk across the clifftops, into the force nine gale that was whipping up from the channel, as opposed to a cosy seafront cafe.

Climbing out of the car and taking the bag and his blanket from the boot, Harry's confident, 'come on we'll be there in a jiffy,' was such an unlike Harry remark, that for a moment she forgot that she was frustrated with him and couldn't feel her face, and if Harry hadn't been holding her close against him as they were walking, then more than likely she'd have been blown over. Surely no other self- respecting souls would consider something as bizarre as walking on a clifftop in November and yet here they were. As different as they'd always been.

Veering to his left and knowing exactly where he was heading, Harry pointed to a pronounced dip in the terrain. He'd got Malcolm to confirm the forecast, that the wind was going to reduce in its ferocity. By which time with fingers firmly crossed, he'd be home and dry. Malcolm thought so anyway. In the meantime, they'd be out of the wind and they, or more importantly Ruth would feel warmer.

'Feeling better?' He asked her, pouring her a warm drink and offering her one of the sandwiches that they'd brought with them, having wrapped the blanket around her. Protesting that he was quite warm enough and didn't need to share it, when in fact he was cold, he berated himself for being so stupid. This clifftop had been the starting point, in a story that had taken the best part of a year to put together, during which time he'd clung on in the vain hope that one day she'd be able to come home and to him.

Ruth knew better than anyone, that Harry insisting he wasn't cold was rubbish. Harry's face tended to turn red, leaning towards blue when he was cold and all this stupid bravado wasn't achieving anything. It wasn't necessary. So rather than tell him, in a move quite bold, given what she'd been thinking, she snuggled closer to him and wrapped the blanket around the two of them, forcing him to turn and face her.

'I'm sure you're curious as to how I came to be living with George?' was said as a result of the desperate need that she'd seen on Harry's face in the warehouse. If this was going to be a day of confessions, or in her case explanations, then she'd already worked out that she'd be best going first. But as soon as she opened her mouth, it became one of those moments when something else occurs to you. In this case, had Harry slept with someone else while she'd been away? If so she could hardly blame him, given what she'd done. Grace had told her that Harry had never stopped loving her and she was sure he still did. But the mere thought of Harry with his hands on a woman that wasn't her, and she was starting to feel cold again.

'Are you going to tell me?' brought her back from where she was heading, at least for the moment.

'In answer to your question Harry, it wasn't George that I loved or kept me in Cyprus, it was Nico,' she told him, in a completely honest speech that she'd prepared and rehearsed more times than she cared to remember. 'On days when he didn't have to go to school and George had to work, he used to bring him into the hospital. One of my jobs was to keep an eye on the creche, only because it was next to my office, not because I had any experience with children. We bonded Nico and I, right from the start, and it sort of went from there. Nico had lost his mum and I was so lonely Harry. We had a mutual need I suppose, if that makes sense. So when George found out that I needed somewhere to live, he offered me his spare room. But my whole relationship with George was built on a lie Harry and I'm sorry if you thought otherwise or if I've hurt you.'

'What makes you say that?'

'Because you thought I'd got married out there,' meant that she'd realised that he'd known where she was, or maybe someone had told her? However happy she'd been or now was, the spook in her had never really been buried. He needed to grab back the initiative, he'd been making progress, so what was the point in upsetting her further with a prolonged explanation?

'I don't know about you, but I don't think I can feel my legs?' Evaded the issue. Had she almost smiled? He thought so.

'Better?' he asked her once they were back in the car with the heater turned up full blast. Ruth still not wanting to rock the boat by asking for an explanation as to why she'd been forced to sit in an over large depression in the ground and freeze half to death, and Harry still not forthcoming with an explanation.

'There's somewhere very close to here that I need you to see,' was just another carrot.

'But we were here yesterday, why not then?' Another unanswered question.

Surely it couldn't be a revelation any greater than him arranging a funeral and a headstone for her, then spending the best part of three years visiting a couple that he'd never met until the day that she'd supposedly been buried? It all came back to the why, or at least that's what she was thinking, as Harry squeezed her hand, before backing out onto the road. Had he turned right, Ruth would have been treated to the sight of Eastbourne and the beginning of the South Downs. But he didn't, he turned left, before turning inland again after a few miles onto a small country road. Then just as he'd done on the previous day, he pulled up in front of a church. He'd promised her that there wouldn't be another graveyard, so what?

Where you lead I will surely follow, flashed through her mind and nearly made her giggle, as Harry took her hand in his, far more naturally than he'd done the previous day, before walking down the short village street. Barely a few moments from their destination.


	9. Chapter 9

Sheltered under the hillside and no more than a few miles from where Ruth was supposedly buried, Jevington was one of those rare villages, where not only did the residents seem to accept outsiders without too many questions, but other than the dozens of walkers who used it as a cross roads over the downs, was generally quiet. A 'stretched out village', nondescript compared to some of its neighbours made it ideal. Situated along a minor road, with a village hall, a tea room where they also sold plants, a church, and at the far end the Eight Bells Pub, where Malcolm and Harry had stayed when they'd made their decision, Jevington and its residents had muddled their quiet way through centuries. It had become Harry's refuge, as the never ending storm clouds had gathered in his head once she'd gone away. Somewhere that had allowed him to break and to mend, without the prying eyes that had been fixed on the man behind the mask. Waiting in the wings, eager to bring him unceremoniously to his knees.

Everything that they'd done had been designed to protect Ruth's reputation and to give her a chance to rebuild her life if she ever came home. Please god free from the elusive Mace, or anyone else that might want to harm her. Mani being the exception to the rule, that brought them to the here and now. So as hard as Harry was finding her decision not to return to the grid, he did understand her motives. If it was time that she needed at no matter what the cost to him personally, she could have it. The next link in the chain was a just heartbeat away. This is Ruth Harry, stop worrying, she'll love it, Ros had told him. He so hoped she was right.

Ruth's 'this is better,' referred to the lack of the freezing temperature, as Harry offered her his arm and suggested that they find somewhere quiet where they wouldn't be disturbed. Not at the tearoom that they'd driven past, but at a row of terraced cottages or more precisely the one where Malcolm had been staying. Back from the road and reached by a short flight of stone steps, The Mallows, had been one of the dozens of properties that he and Malcolm had visited in order to find somewhere to invest Ruth's money. Without Malcolm's expertise and manipulation of heaven knows what, which in real terms had been cooking the books on a monumental scale, Ruth would have lost everything. She was supposedly dead, and with no relatives to claim what by rights was still hers, the proceeds from the sale of her house and her belongings, should and would have gone to the state. But Ruth wasn't dead, she was very much alive. The innocent that they hadn't been able to protect as Adam had put it, had driven them to make their decision.

Now three years later, assuming that she liked the house that they'd chosen, which Malcolm had convinced the then distraught Harry that she would, then fine. A short re visitation to his cooking the books emporium and the deeds could be amended to her name. How she and Harry sorted out the finances was up to them. If she didn't like it, then it could always be sold. But it wasn't this that was worrying Harry, well not entirely, it was the Mace saga. Ruth had the right to know what had happened and why, but could he tell her without scaring her half to death, or worse still away again?

After the previous day, Ruth's first thought when Harry stopped and said 'we're here,' was one of impatience. He was behaving like a spy again, when surely he didn't need to. That was until the front door opened, at which point she couldn't quite believe her eyes. A smiling Malcolm grinning from ear to ear, far more confident than Harry was feeling, she let go of Harry's hand and took the steps two at a time.

'I've retired and I'm taking a holiday,' followed Ruth's question as to why he was there, as he took their coats and ushered them through to the sitting room, before suggesting that he'd bring the tea through, at which point Ruth said that she'd help him. Having not seen Malcolm since, and Ruth didn't want to discuss the since that was in her mind, she moved the subject on from what she'd first believed to be Malcolm's holiday, to his retirement. As Malcolm explained, now truthfully, that he intended touring around for a few months after which he'd probably move out of London, Harry sat looking at the clock. It was starting to get dark outside, the trigger for Malcolm to make his exit, which they'd arranged to happen when Harry flexed his fingers. Malcolm had booked himself into the pub for the night, having prepared a meal for Ruth and Harry, made up the beds in both the rooms, with the fervent prayer that they'd only need one of them, because somehow or other after years of watching this saga, Harry would find the words to move things on.

'I just need to pop out for a moment, I won't be long. Have a look around and make yourselves at home,' he told them, grabbing his coat less than convincingly.

Listening to what Malcolm had been telling them, but out of the corner of her eye watching Harry, Ruth knew that things weren't as they seemed. Harry was twitchy and a twitchy Harry usually spelt trouble. If Malcolm had retired, then this meant that the grid must be even more depleted. Which meant what? If this was an exercise that they'd cooked up between them to persuade her to come back to work, then they could think again. And besides which, where had Malcolm gone? If they'd walked the full length of the village which she presumed they had, surely there was nowhere for him to go?

'What's going on Harry?' seemed a reasonable question, given the circumstances.

Up until that moment, Harry had watched Ruth follow Malcolm into the kitchen, come back carrying a plate of biscuits and settle herself down on the sofa. All of which were hers, or currently his, depending on which way you looked at it. He'd been so lost in his thoughts as to how well she was fitting in to the surroundings and what a good job he and Malcolm had done, that he'd lost his intended train of thought. Now confronted with her question, did he start by telling her that the house was hers and why, and that upstairs were a couple of things that he'd rescued from her house before Mace had gone in, or did he start by telling her that Mace had never believed she was dead? Deciding to get it over with by opting for the latter, he felt compelled to move from the chair where he'd been sitting so that he was sitting next to her. For one thing it was what he wanted to do and secondly it felt less confrontational. In what was becoming more of a habit than it had ever been in the past, he moved so that he was sitting next to her and took both her hands in his. At which point she looked down at their joined hands and then up at him.

Through the months and years that she'd been in Cyprus, the one thing that Ruth had never considered, was that they'd need to go to such lengths to convince Mace that she was dead. Plans that Adam came up with were usually full proof and she'd had no reason to believe that this was any different. When she and Zaf had sat on that desolate quayside and said their goodbyes before she'd told Harry to let her go, she'd firmly believed that it was all over. Life on the grid would just carry on as it always had, and after time, she'd just be one more casualty of what they did. Now though, Harry was telling her that despite him identifying her body, Mace had refused to believe she was dead and had hounded him for weeks. It was one of the reasons that they'd held such a public funeral.

She was so shocked that she didn't pick up on his 'one' of the reasons, so 'where's Mace now Harry?' was her only question, to which he didn't have an answer. Other than to tell her that he'd been proved accountable for what had happened at Cotterdam and had disappeared.

'You've been completely exonerated from any involvement,' he told her, searching for the letter of apology from the Home Office, before absentmindedly taking a deep breath and rubbing his thumb across the top of her hand, eliciting a response that he hadn't been banking on.

'Malcolm's not coming back tonight is he?' was a statement rather than a question.

'That very much depends on how you react to what else I have to tell you,' went unanswered, as Ruth without warning, moved closer and kissed him.


	10. Chapter 10

'You're right Ruth, Malcolm isn't coming back tonight. Not because either of us was anticipating you kissing me like that,' was said with the kind of smile on Harry's face that she hadn't seen since the one and only evening that he'd taken her out. 'Malcolm's invitation to make ourselves at home, wasn't just a throwaway comment, there's dinner in the oven if we want it. Although, and I don't want you to think that I'm presuming anything more Ruth, or that this is a setup.'

Set up or not, Ruth just wanted Harry to stop talking nonsense and instigate a second kiss, and please god he wasn't going to waffle on all evening about his gentlemanly intentions. Because here they were, tucked away in this lovely little cottage, miles from Thames House and everybody that knew them, so whether he'd planned it or not, she no longer cared. She was legitimately Ruth Evershed again, free to build a new life for herself, so whatever he still intended telling her and her questions to him, could wait until the morning. Surely Harry could see this as the opportunity that they'd so far managed to mess up and make the most of it, or at least say something?

Or not as it turned out.

_Cogs turning - so still alive. Eyes twinkling - a real turn on. Action - zilch. What was the matter with the man? Bugger this for a game of soldiers._

'I already know about dinner Harry, so if we're quick we've got about about fifteen minutes,' she told him, desperation forcing her take the initiative and her mouth overtake her brain. She was Ruth not Ros and she'd never come on to anyone like this in her life. Well maybe she'd thrown a few hints at Harry in the early days, but she had no idea where all this courage, if that's what it was, was coming from.

By the time that Harry was following her into the kitchen, he'd taken his sweater off. He was far too hot. With the fire on the cottage was always warm and with Ruth's come and get me and stop messing about Harry invitation in her eyes, something that had him wondering if Malcolm had slipped something into her drink, he was at sixes and sevens, literally. Surely Ruth wasn't expecting them to - well not in the kitchen?

Ruth wasn't and she hoped that Harry hadn't misunderstood her need to be kissed properly to mean more, well at least not before dinner, as she searched through the drawers for some cutlery, just as he arrived behind her and put his arms around her waist, pinning her firmly against the table.

'The knives and forks are over there,' he told her, not letting go, just nodding towards the small unit under the window, before realising he wasn't supposed to know where anything was.

Everything around them blurred, as Ruth turned around and looked him fully in the eye, questioning as she always did.

He could have told her then and there that the cottage was hers, but he didn't. That was something to be savoured and enjoyed at another time. The old Harry would have started with his accustomed apology, before leaving her standing as he buckled under the weight of those startling blue eyes. But this was a different Harry. One whose confidence had been growing, as something deep within told him to hold onto her and to keep it simple. Further explanations could come later, he'd find the right words, this was too precious a moment to ruin. So instead he kissed her, just as she hoped he would. Gently at first, but as the kiss deepened and she adjusted herself against him, he responded with everything he had. His need for her, now as evident as hers was for him was exquisite. His powerful arms pulling her much smaller frame closer. Nothing else mattered, other than he knew that this was a pivotal moment, and please god she felt the same.

Despite the intensity and had Harry's stomach not rumbled, who knows? But it did, causing Ruth to open her eyes and look up at him. Harry's were still closed, his whole face relaxed. She took it between her hands and rubbed his cheeks with her thumbs, just as she had done all those years ago. No matter what he'd done, nothing in the world was more important than the feelings that she had for this man. It never had been. If he was proposing that they stay here tonight rather than drive back to London, then as long as he wasn't expecting her to sleep alone, any other explanations could wait until the morning. Despite everything that had passed between them and everything that they'd seen and done, Harry was the one person that she trusted would never knowingly hurt her.

'Dinner,' she whispered, gently kissing him before she pulled away. There would be no telling him to let her go this time. She wasn't going anywhere.

_An hour later._

Malcolm had passed the intervening time by attempting to read one of his favourite books. It hadn't worked, because he hadn't been able to concentrate on anything other than what might be happening a short distance along the road. A pint of the pubs best bitter and steak and chips with all the trimmings that's what he needed, something that during the years that he'd looked after his mum he'd been denied. It had been over an hour since he'd left Harry and Ruth to sort themselves out and so far, so good. With no messages or a phone call from Harry to say that they were on their way back to London, or worse still that Ruth had misunderstood their motives, he hoped that they were also enjoying their dinner. Harry had told him that he'd get in touch in the morning as to what would be a good time to call in and collect his things, before he headed off on his travels. He'd ordered breakfast for eight and he was still wondering if maybe that was a bit too early?

Malcolm needn't have worried. Harry and Ruth had finished dinner and were at that 'thank goodness we left the washing up until the morning' stage. Him having told her over dinner, that everything that he'd ever done had been designed to keep her safe, and her not doubting it was true. They were lying on Ruth's sofa. The innuendo and the reticence now gone. Him with his arm around her, barely able to believe that this was happening, as she surrendered against him, his lips exploring every glorious inch of her neck and shoulders that he could reach. Shaken to the point of shuddering, he realised that if anything she was way ahead of him, as her fingers which had been stroking the bare skin that she'd accessed through the space of his unbuttoned shirt, were causing his erection to grow. Christ he was in trouble. Desperately needing to keep up, he shifted his position, until with his free had hand he could cup one of her breasts and stroke her nipple, at which point Ruth moaned. His final undoing and with seemingly no holds barred, she was saying yes. As he moved against her, which caused Ruth's breath to hitch, he leaned back so that he could look at her. Now with any preconceived ideas that they'd be able to make it as far as the bedroom blown, hazel, darkened with desire met blue. Cataclysmic in it's proportions, as years of rejection and pain, flew as fast as the desire that was building. This wasn't going to be a one - night stand that would be pushed aside in the morning. This was a moment that had been built on a foundation that had crumbled but survived, to be savoured and to last.

'This wasn't how I planned this to happen Ruth,' in a now breathless voice, evoked a moan that meant nothing other than please don't stop, as Ruth climaxed under the weight of Harry's touch. Hands that had killed, building her beyond anything that she'd ever experienced. With him praying that he'd be able to hold on for a while longer, whilst at the same time, continue to deliver the feeling of pure ecstasy that was building again between them. With bed now beckoning, he nodded towards the stairs. The prospect of a totally naked Ruth writhing under him, filling his mind, he wanted nothing more than to stay with her forever.

But early tomorrow he'd have to leave, he was expected back onto the grid and these two wonderful days that they'd managed to create between them would be over. She clearly didn't want to go with him, so what now? Don't rock the boat he was telling himself as she climbed into bed beside him and he pulled her close. God how he loved her. Leave explanations for another time. What ever she presumed this house to be, what was the point of ruining the illusion? If the gods were kind to him and she stayed here, he could be back with her again at the weekend. He'd tell her then, when she'd had more time to think. Before that though he was going to kiss her again and again, and please god she wasn't too tired, because he intended making love to her, until they both fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

'I'm assuming that Harry's gone,?' Malcolm said rather obviously, when Ruth opened the door and invited him in, looking tired and terribly lost.

'Work calls,' was all she could manage, turning away from him and heading towards the kitchen.

The look of disappointment on Harry's face when he'd driven away, had almost made her chase after him. But that would have meant her backtracking from what she knew was a firm decision. Love wasn't the issue and she would stay with Harry unconditionally, but that meant him accepting that she wouldn't go back to to the grid, under any circumstances. Those days were over.

'I need space Malcolm, if that makes sense. Not where Harry's concerned,' she added, turning the kettle on as though she was on autopilot.

Not perfect, but then when was it ever where they were concerned? He was much more invested in seeing them make a go of it than he had been years ago when he'd put his foot in it, but he'd meant what he'd said. They did make a lovely couple and he hadn't changed his mind.

'I'm in no rush, my train's not until tomorrow morning, if you'd like me to stay?' he lied, discarding the prospect of a gourmet meal on the midnight train to Inverness, in order to keep her company.

Of all the staff that had come and gone, well apart from Colin, Malcolm had always considered Ruth to be the most like him. The worker bees, that had given the others the the tools to carry out whatever they'd needed to do, but without reaping the consequences. That was until Colin had been killed and Ruth had been exiled. Both of which had wrought havoc on the grid, but brought them closer together as a team.

He was the lucky one who had walked away unscathed. He no longer worked for five and what had he told Harry? He was dog tired. How true that was. That's how Ruth looked now and he could understand her need for change and for some time to plan a new life. She was bright, probably brighter then any of them when it came to sorting out a puzzle, which in this case made Harry the most important piece. During the years since she'd been away, there had been so many never to be forgotten incidents when Harry had been on the brink. Davy King and Harry's total disregard for his own life, Connie's attempt to set him up as a traitor when poor Ben had been needlessly killed, and then Mani and the beating that he'd given Harry, which if he and Ruth had slept together, which with a quick glance into the bedroom on his way to use the bathroom suggested they had, she'd have seen with her own eyes. There was only so much time before Harry wouldn't be so lucky and this surely must be playing on Ruth's mind.

'How about we go for a run in the car this morning and I'll treat you to lunch somewhere? Come on Ruth it will do us both good,' he suggested.

Malcolm liked Eastbourne at whatever time of year. Once dubbed to be the seaside resort where every other resident was over sixty was a myth, or at least he liked to believe so. When he'd been a boy and his dad had been alive, they'd always had their annual holiday during cricket week. It had been in the days when Botham and Richards had wielded the willow for Somerset and he'd spent many a Sunday afternoon enjoying the inception of the limited over variety. Not at a fancy ground which held thousands, but a ground where the spectators formed the boundary with their hundreds of deckchairs and picnic lunches. Something that Harry and he always talked about in the build up to the new season. Maybe if Harry _retired_, a word that amounted to blasphemy in Harry's eyes, they'd be able to recapture those times?

'One of my favourite views,' he told Ruth, driving past the spot where Harry had taken her the previous day, then realising he was stating the obvious.

The sparkle in her eyes that always made them grow wider had all but died, which was heartbreaking, given how they changed when Harry looked at her and she at him. It was obvious that Harry hadn't told her that the cottage was hers, or _the_ _incident _that he was duty bound to take with him to his grave. Knowing Harry and his unwavering 'one thing at a time' nature, he was probably thinking he had plenty of time. This lull in terrorist threats that had seen so many of their colleagues dying wouldn't last, and god help Ruth and her sanity if anything happened to Harry. Could he or should he interfere? Was it better to suggest to her that she went back to the grid or not, was the question that he couldn't ask her? He could plant the seed, but both she and Harry had to find their own way. It was time he took the direct route which would mean pushing her. Not in his nature, but as this might be his last chance to indulge himself by spending some time with Ruth, he needed to try. Besides which they'd arrived at the restaurant.

'I know why you've made this decision Ruth and it was cruel that Jo died on your first day back. But she wouldn't have wanted you to dwell on it, any more than any of us did, and it certainly shouldn't hamper the progress you're making with Harry.'

'What do you mean?'

'Harry does love you,' _was_ straight to the point. That the unstoppable force that was Grace had got in first, he hadn't known, but he needed to hang on to the initiative before he lost his nerve.

'I'm betting you haven't told him either?'

Told him what?' was Ruth at her defensive best. But they weren't on the grid now and he was struggling not to smile.

'Ruth?'

'Not yet.' And he did.

'But you do love him?' she left hanging. Surely it was obvious that she did and thank heavens that their drinks had arrived, because as sweet as Malcolm was, she really didn't want to be pushed into crying in public.

Malcolm wasn't an idiot and he certainly wasn't going to labour the point by revisiting the day that she'd come back, when she'd talked about being woken from a scary nightmare and ruined fish. But the one and only question that she'd asked and his motivation for having this conversation, had been how is he Malcolm? Not how's Harry. Assuming quite rightly that he'd always known how they'd felt about each other and still did. Naiive he might be, but he knew that Harry would _never_ take advantage of Ruth, so a bed that looked as though a mob of children had been jumping on it on Christmas morning, meant a lot more than just sex.

'Harry wanted to tell me that he loved me on the day that I left, but I stopped him,' came from the courage that the drink had given her and after a deep breath, as for the first time that day, she looked straight at him.' I know that you're worried about us Malcolm, but you don't need to be, we'll get there I promise you.'

* * *

At the same time, Harry was sitting in the meeting room with Ros and Lucas, knowing that at least for one day, Ruth wouldn't be on her own. Malcolm was going to invite her out for lunch and offer to stay over. Something that he should have done after the previous night, rather than leaving her on her own at the crack of dawn.

Ros clearing her throat wasn't very subtle, but it got his attention.

'I'm assuming that nothing major has happened since I've been away?' he asked them, completely failing in his attempt to look as though he'd been thinking about work related issues, rather than the previous night with Ruth. 'I trust you're still building a relationship with Sarah Caulfield?' he asked Lucas. A deflection maybe, but subject that _was _of concern.

He and Ros had already had a conversation about Lucas's obvious involvement with the CIA, that was going way beyond the bounds of professional, and was causing him to be absent from the grid more often than not. Something that was now causing Harry to consider his own commitment to Ruth and what he needed to do to make it work. It was clear that you couldn't have both, not unless you were prepared to compromise, which he wasn't. Certainly not where she was concerned. He'd not wanted to leave her anymore than she'd wanted him to go. His promise not to do anything reckless, as crazy as her knowing that it was a promise that he might not be able to keep. Depending on the traffic, two hours on a bad day from Sussex to London, and an hour and a half at best, was an impossible ask. Endless nights when he'd be in London and she'd be on her own, could cause irreparable damage to their relationship. Not to mention the loneliness and the longing that had been swept away over the course of one glorious night. Something that he couldn't survive without. Not anymore.


	12. Chapter 12

'Ruth, the rent's all paid up, so it's yours for as long as you want it. I might even consider buying it for myself if the owner ever decides to sell,' Malcolm told Ruth, beginning to enjoy his new role of being a real spy, by actually telling her the truth. 'Make use of the car as well, the buses out here are so unreliable.'

She was driving him to the station the following morning, after an evening that to be honest they'd both enjoyed. He was a good listener was Malcolm and in the comfort and privacy of the cottage, she'd made good use of the opportunity to talk about her time in Cyprus, until inevitably he'd pushed her further on the subject of her and Harry. Time can be a great healer, that and the support of true friends, he'd told her, opening himself up as being just as vulnerable, by telling her about his relationship with Colin and how he'd felt on the day that he'd been murdered. The evening in Adam's flat when he'd been all over the place, when he'd realised that there was something developing between her and Harry, had led Ruth to ask him the still unanswered question. Why had they chosen Sussex for her funeral? Was a question that she'd have to ask Harry, he'd told her.

'Not that I imagine you'll need me, but you know my number,' he told her, his face slipping into his lopsided grin , slinging his much used backpack over his shoulder, before giving her a quick peck on the cheek and striding away from the barrier, at the start of what he'd been describing as his big adventure.

If there was one word that would sum up Ruth, it was curious. Malcolm had always been just Malcolm. Steady and reliable and always there. But over the last twenty - four hours, he'd talked openly about the personal side of his life without rancour or regret, which had got her thinking. Everyone had to draw a line in the sand at some stage and if Harry had accepted that she didn't want to come back to five, then surely she ought to be supporting him in the same way. After all it was only four days before he'd be back. First things first though, she needed a decent map of Sussex, a small backpack and some proper walking boots. Walking's therapeutic, get yourself up onto the Downs and blow those cobwebs away, Malcolm had suggested, when they'd been climbing into the car. Over that stile and a couple of miles to the south and you'll reach the spot where Harry took you the other day. It might even give you the answers that you're looking for.

With her purchases now made and praising herself for feeling more positive about the future, she was parking the car in front of the line of garages that were clearly marked with the numbers of each of the cottages. Miles away so not expecting it, she was interrupted by the arrival of a young woman with a small boy. Feeling the need to introduce herself, she bent down and picked up the toy that the child had dropped.

'Hello I'm Rachel, I'm staying at number five,' slipped off her tongue like treacle, as the girl who must have been in her early twenties nodded and said, 'thanks, I'm Abby, this is my son James - same as your landlord.'

Had Ruth already picked up her shopping, she'd have dropped it, as she steeled herself against the impulse to react to hearing Harry's legend and ask Abby if she'd met him. Surely this must be a coincidence? Why would Harry have bought a house so far from London? Maybe he hadn't and it was some sort of safe house? She knew they had them all over the country, she'd seen the list during one of her searches. Or perhaps it had been owned by an asset at some time and five had held onto it? But if Harry did own it, then it made sense for Malcolm to have been staying there since he'd retired, plus Harry knowing where things were, _did_ have an explanation. But why hadn't one or the other of them said something? Led her to wonder what else if anything they, or more precisely Harry might be holding back. Maybe she was just over reacting as she was prone to do, thousands of people were called James. None the less, never mind just clearing up, she was going to search the place from top to bottom. By the time she'd gathered her thoughts together and was opening the front door, Abby was reversing out onto the lane.

Armed with her lunch, Ruth sat down at the small dining table and looked around the room. Fully aware that the sofa and where Malcolm had sat the previous evening, was where Harry and she had - she was searching for an expression that was less tacky than shagged each other senseless. Although, and there would always be the delicious although, when he'd finally taken her to bed. Forget going for a long walk on a cold day, she had better things to do. She no longer wanted her sandwich.

Two bedrooms, one double and a single, and a bathroom under the eaves where a bathtub resided, were the sum total of the top floor. She'd had a long bath the previous morning after Harry had left, luxuriating in the peace and quiet as the hot water had seeped into her exhausted body. Her imagination running wild as she'd soaped herself, her fingers reaching the soft spot that Harry had so recently visited. Now though she needed to school her thoughts and to concentrate, on something other than Harry hovering above her, or better still sharing the bathtub with her the next time he was there. Not easy when the first thing she intended doing was stripping the bed, and it would be so much more enjoyable to crawl back in and fall asleep cuddling his pillow, dreaming he was on his way. _Concentrate how difficult could it be? _More than she thought, as she took her plate back into the kitchen and then climbed the stairs. Her body now responding in a way that needed relief, or more especially Harry. Maybe phoning him might help, but he was in meetings all day and said he'd ring her. Deep breathing, try that, fell on deaf ears, as she walked into the bedroom and revisited the crumpled sheets, finally giving way to the tears that had been building since he'd left.

Half an hour later and feeling marginally better, she resumed her task. Everything was so feminine and screamed of comfort, with absolutely no resemblance to Harry's house in London. Granted it was a cottage, but even so, cottages could be minimalist and manly, given the right furnishings. If this was Harry's, surely there was a clue somewhere? A tie or a shirt that he kept there, or some toiletries. She opened the wardrobe, containing nothing other than her own recent purchases and some extra hangers. She looked under both beds – still nothing to suggest that this belonged to Harry.

The kitchen was her main priority, untidy in the extreme. The whirlwind of evening that she and Harry had spent together still in evidence, as were the plates from this morning's breakfast with Malcolm. She turned on the taps and filled the sink, immersing her hands in the soapy water. Was there anything that didn't remind her of what had so recently happened? Apparently not, as she completed the task and then stacked away the plates, the cups and the glasses. That done, she opened the other cupboards, well stocked with food. No surprises there, Malcolm knew how to look after himself. The drawers and the under - unit cupboards were the same. Smacking of a man who had spent the best part of his life looking after his mum and knew what it took to run a home. There was absolutely nothing here to suggest that Harry'd had any input whatsoever.

Last but by no means least she went back to the sitting room. Etched on her memory, she'd seen it from all angles, big time. A window seat overlooking the tiny garden, _very _comfy furniture, a TV in one corner, a bookcase and the small dining table and chairs. If this _was_ Harry's and he'd let her stay there, she wouldn't want to change anything. The whole house was just lovely. Again with the memories flooding back the sofa beckoned. The crackle of the fire and the music in the background soothing her, she lay down and closed her eyes.

* * *

Ros was concerned. Having Harry back, should have brought some stability to the grid. Except that a less that fully functioning Harry whose mind was clearly elsewhere, was a liability, and she already had one of those in Lucas. If she was going to tackle him before he headed home, then best do it now, and somewhere where nobody else could hear them.

'You know how this works Harry as well as I do,' she said, leaning on the railings beside him and uncharacteristically putting her hand on his. Him fully aware that when the door opened that it wasn't the one person that he wanted it to be. 'You've told us enough times that our private life has to be put into a box once we come through those pods, except in this case you can't do it, can you? I'm on your side Harry, I really am. Remember I know what it's like to end up with regrets,' finally forced him to look at her. 'Go home Harry, and before you start prevaricating with your usual twaddle, you know I don't mean just around the corner. Take another week, more if you need it, we'll manage.'


	13. Chapter 13

For as long as he could remember he'd thought of little else, other than his responsibility to his country and the missed opportunities with her. Indulging himself in the first instance – maybe. Depriving himself of the second – _absolutely_. So why was he finding it so difficult to walk out of Thames House for the last time? Destined to be together, made for each other, the perfect couple, had been whispered about so many times, that he'd finally allowed himself to believe it, but when she'd left, had almost destroyed him. He'd sought help, or more precisely been forced to, with the services shrink and her bloody intrusive questions. Whereas this time, there was only one place where he could unburden himself, to confess to her that he'd been ordered to talk to Diana Jewell and why. That or lose his job, in the wake of her exile. Ros was right. If he wanted his relationship with Ruth to survive, then it couldn't be based on half truths. To have what you truly want, hadn't been filled with Ros's usual innuendo, but a real concern that he found happiness. That wasn't to say that finally making love to Ruth hadn't been important, because it had, and he was still reeling from the fact that they'd actually managed to get to that stage so easily. But it wasn't enough. It was the complete package that was Ruth, the woman that he'd never stopped loving, who'd been lost to him but was now back. Damaged maybe, but to him she was perfect, and his only chance of absolution. For better or for worse, waiting until the weekend wasn't an option.

Rush hour traffic, roadworks at every conceivable turn, his temper frayed, it had been a very long drive. Reigate, less than a hour away if he put his foot down, was where he'd been held up for twenty minutes by a road accident, and where his resolve had almost faltered. It would have been so easy to turn back. But he was here now and wild horses wouldn't have driven him away after the reception that he'd got. She was warm and she was real and she was wrapped around him. With his face now buried in her hair, he closed his eyes. His breathing in time with hers. An indulgence that he could ill afford, given what he needed to tell her. But where was the harm in it? To steal a few precious moments to allow his mind shut down and his weary body to relax? The calm before the inevitable storm. Stupid, the best he could hope for. Goodbye the worst.

One glance at the clock, told him it was getting late, so bed? If only it were that simple. It would lead to him avoiding the issue as he always did. It was time to come clean.

'Why all the subterfuge Harry, is it because I don't want to come back to work?' came with his coffee, as Ruth curled up at the other end of the sofa, her eyes full of questions. He wasn't supposed to be here, not until Friday, so something must have happened. Something serious enough that he couldn't tell her, other than face to face. He looked haunted was the best way to describe it and the only other time that he'd looked like that, was on the evening that Ros had raced in and confronted him.

'Just tell me Harry -_please_,' was born out of his continuing silence and her fear that he'd come here to end it, until he put his coffee down and looked straight at her.

Whatever she'd expected him to say, it wasn't 'after your funeral things got complicated and I tried to kill Oliver Mace,' as he sat watching to see if her reaction was one of horror. Which if it was, she was making a damn good job of hiding it. Surprised definitely, relieved certainly, because what Harry then went on to tell her dispelled all of her doubts.

Mace daring to show up at her funeral, then threatening to find her, had not only increased the pain of losing her, but had seen him committing professional suicide, when two days later he'd walked out of Thames House and followed Mace home, fully intent on strangling him. It had been a close run thing, only failing because Adam had raced in and stopped him, hadn't prevented Mace from being hospitalised for a week under armed guard. Something that had been kept from his record as they'd closed ranks to protect him and with the intervention of the DG, had kept him in a job. Mace's later disappearance convincing him that he was looking for revenge and was going after her, was the reason that he'd asked Malcolm to find out where she was, was just thee tip of the iceberg. That he'd been declared psychologically unfit to work and been forced to see a shrink, who'd insisted that he take time off. Not on compassionate leave because Catherine was ill, was the story that anyone who had asked had been told, but here in this cottage, with the occasional visit from his colleagues, to ensure that he hadn't drunk himself to death, had been his ultimate humiliation. That he could still remember the sorry story from beginning to end, as did Ros and Malcolm. The only survivors from the time when one by one the rest of his team had perished, had led to his increasing guilt. Worse than that and what had eclipsed everything, was that she'd sacrificed herself to save him and he'd abused that trust.

'You've had a taste of life outside of the service and as much as I want to spend the rest of my life with you Ruth, after what I've seen and done, I honestly don't know where to start,' was barely audible, such was his pain. Ruth on the other hand was reeling, as she tried to assimilate and to put into some sort of order what Harry had told her

_This_ was the reason that Malcolm had refused to answer any of her questions. He'd wanted to be sure how she felt about Harry and whether she'd be able to cope with what he now needed. To find a way to leave five and to build a new life for them both. Together. To help him to overcome the guilt that he was still feeling, where they'd all failed, was the most incredibly uplifting challenge she'd been faced with in years. That said, she needed to rein in her desire to tell him that she loved him and that everything was going to be alright. It would be, she was sure, but for tonight and for however long it took her to convince him, it wasn't that simple. She was an analyst not a psychologist, but if anyone knew the inside workings of Harry's mind it was her. The tables had been turned and Harry was looking for the reassurance and support that he'd spent years giving her. Before that and most importantly, they needed to get through the rest of the evening without any more revelations, otherwise neither of them would get any sleep. No drama, she moved closer to him, took his hands in her own and went for the lighthearted.

Her suggestion that she hoped that as he'd arrived with a suitcase, meant he was staying, and as he already knew where the bedroom was, then maybe he should go upstairs and unpack, was like manner from heaven for Harry. That she hadn't sent him packing but was asking him to stay close to her, in the one place where he felt safe, was almost his undoing, as Ruth continued to look at him. There would be questions of her own, he was sure, but mercifully not for the moment.

'I'll be on my way then. I could do with a sandwich and another drink if that's not too much trouble?' he asked her, trying his best to sound normal, but failing abysmally as he struggled to his feet. Whilst at the same time refusing to let go of her hand, in case she changed her mind or disappeared.

_An hour later._

Harry was asleep, his head cradled against Ruth's shoulder, his arm around her waist, her face buried in his hair as she held him close and whispered that she loved him. After all the pain and the belief that she'd been the victim, she now knew the full extent to which Harry had suffered. His job and the opportunity that had allowed him to believe that he could kill Mace and not reap the consequences, put them on an even playing field and with the opportunity to heal together. Tomorrow was another day and if it wasn't raining, which according to the forecast it was supposed to be dry and a bit warmer, she'd drag him over those hills in the direction of the sea. Blow away the first of the cobwebs as Malcolm had suggested and take it one step at a time. If she had her way, then he wouldn't be going back to work at all, but for now if it was what he wanted and needed, she'd support him. She still had a few contacts of her own, one of which was the services doctor that she'd had to see before she'd been allowed to return to the grid, and she was damn sure he'd come down on their side. If for no other reason than Harry was still back and blue from the beating that Mani had obviously given him. Something else that he'd conveniently failed to mention. Well not any more.


	14. Chapter 14

Ruth was awake early, despite the fact that she'd barely slept. Intent on ensuring that Harry continued to sleep peacefully, while the overnight rain had pounded against the tiny windowpanes, she'd forced herself to stay awake, making resolutions that she intended to keep. First and most importantly, they needed to take it one day at a time and today she'd determined was going to be a _happy _day. A day when they could just be themselves, with no more in - depth discussions about his or her perceived failings or regrets, was going to start with their first proper breakfast together. Not the hurried one, that had seen him driving away and leaving her with more questions than answers. After that, the walk across the Downs that Malcolm had insisted she'd enjoy, with some sea air to chase those cobwebs away, could now be shared. She was feeling positive.

Harry opened his eyes and closed them again. His head ached and not because he'd had a drink or had any clear memory of what he'd told Ruth the previous evening. He couldn't even remember getting undressed or climbing into bed and certainly not hanging his trousers on a hanger and folding his sweater. But there they were all neat and tidy, so Ruth must have done it. He could hear music coming from the kitchen and the smell of bacon cooking, so whatever he'd said or done, he obviously hadn't made a complete hash of things or disgraced himself. First things first though he needed to use the bathroom. Here again, everything was laid out tidily. She'd obviously been shopping, because there were new towels that he hadn't seen before. Not crass enough to be labelled his and hers, defined by some ghastly logo. Just white, hanging side by side. As was his bathrobe which was hanging next to hers on the back of the door. All screaming of an acceptance that they were a couple. Ruth was obviously dressed, which was a shame, given how much he enjoyed first thing in the morning sex, or at least he did now. Best not to push it, but maybe tomorrow if he played his cards right.

'Coffee's on when you want one,' called a cheerful voice from downstairs,' bringing him back from where he drifted off. His words of the previous evening_ I want to spend the rest of my life with you,_ revisiting in his head from seemingly nowhere. Short of that, there was nothing, other than he was suddenly damn sure that if he'd said that, then he must have told her the rest of his sorry behaviour. One thing he did know, was that he felt and looked a complete mess, so he needed to shave and to have a shower. He'd have quite liked a long soak in the bath, but he didn't want to risk Ruth walking in and being confronted with his black and blue body, which was ridiculous when she'd obviously already seen it. Twice if you counted last night. Mind you, the first time she'd had her eyes closed for the most part, whereas he'd seen every glorious inch of hers. Control and self - denial was so bloody over rated, especially now when his overactive imagination was causing his body to react, and it wasn't as though there was a lock on the door to keep her out. He opted for a quick shower and then got dressed. It was time to face the music. He hoped it was a waltz and not a tango.

Intentionally, neither of them mentioned what had happened the previous evening. Harry because he didn't want to revisit those memories and was happy to do whatever she asked of him, her for the same reason, other than she had a different motive, as she passed him a plate filled with what looked like the entire contents of the fridge and said 'tuck in, I'm sure you're hungry.'

He was, he was ravenous, and not just for the bacon, as Ruth buttered her toast and smiled at him. Then suggesting that they made a picnic and go for a long walk, was the first of what would be _thousands_ of steps that they'd take together, over the weeks that would follow that day. A day that was just the start of their new life together, that with those few simple words and a smile, Ruth had done more than any shrink could have hoped to achieve, to make him feel better.

If there was a way to describe the South Downs, it would be to say that they wrapped themselves around you. Smooth and curved like a woman on her back, some writer or other had written. Not that Harry cared, or could remember which one. He was much more invested in the present company and following the curves that were walking a few steps in front of him. Day dreaming about the evening, and the night that he hoped would follow.

'Better?' she asked him, dragging him back to the present, having paused at the first style, after a mile or so.

There was nothing physically wrong with Harry, other than maybe he was carrying a bit too much weight and that was easily solvable. Smaller breakfasts starting tomorrow or maybe next week would be a start. The problem was all in his head and out in the fresh air with the wind in their faces, with the determination of someone that belayed her small stature, she was determined to prove it.

'Malcolm told me to get myself up here and blow the cobwebs away,' she continued, gritting her teeth and struggling like billy - oh to get the top off the thermos.

Ask Harry later and he would have described it as a light bulb moment.

She was _so_ close. Close enough that if he'd wanted to kiss her, he'd only have needed to take a step. Except that he couldn't. Because with this one simple act of failure he was transfixed. It put everything into perspective. _This_ was what really mattered. Her with him in the moment, and a thermos top that was refusing to budge.

'Ruth,' was enough to stop her struggling. 'Here let me help you with that,' and she looked up. 'I love you _so_ much,' and the flask slipped through her fingers.

It was a further two weeks before Ruth broached the subjects of her funeral and the house. Two weeks, during which she put her heart and soul into making sure that Harry continued to move forward. A_ll_ the barriers had come down and there was nothing that she felt they couldn't say to each other.

They were sitting on the beach. His choice this time. Sheltered by one of the large wooden breakwaters, designed to keep the occasional storm tides that frequented this part of the coastline, from depositing their pebbles onto the promenade and into the road beyond. He'd done his research and he was proud of it.

'Not quite the Thames Barrier, but it's pretty much the same principal,' he told her, moving a strand of hair that was obscuring her view, seemingly fascinated as another huge wave crashed into the nearest wooden wall, sending a spray of water into the air.

'And Sussex?' she asked him again, ensuring that he couldn't ignore her question indefinitely, despite his finger tips trailing their way across the back of her neck.

'It's no mystery Ruth. Remember I was hardly myself at the time. Malcolm and Jo put in all the leg work and as far as the house and your funeral were concerned, it was pretty much a chicken and end situation. London was out of the question, and let's face it, you'd have hated to be buried in the Home Counties. They all knew that you liked the sea. As do I so it seems,' he said, pulling her to her feet, before gathering their things together. The smile that she'd worked so hard to create, full blown.

* * *

**_One month later._**

_'Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds. Or bends with the remover to remove.'_

Ruth had been thumbing her way through Shakespeare's sonnets, hell bent on finding this one, in an attempt to stop herself from climbing out of bed and throwing on the first clothes that came to hand. Walking up onto the hills, she'd rejected. It was the middle of in the night. She needed a cup of tea and she needed Harry. It was just so bloody unfair.

Weeks that had seen Harry growing in belief and strength, ruined in the blink of an eye when he'd received the call to say that Ros had been killed. She'd stayed silent as she'd held him while his chest had risen and fallen, feeling the anger that was rising from deep within. Knowing without a doubt that he wouldn't let this go, as he'd gathered himself together and gone upstairs to change. The Harry that she'd first fallen in love with was back, and with it, the real possibility that he was teetering on the brink yet again. Why? she'd wanted to ask anyone that would listen. Her unconditional love for him, the only thing that had stopped her from begging as she'd stood and watched him pack.

'You know I have to do this Ruth,' the sole sodding reason she was spending a second sleepless night on her own, with her imagination all over the place. Most especially, would he be able to get away with it? Ros's death had to be avenged and he was the one to do it, was what had kept her awake and taken her back to a time that she'd schooled herself to forget. He didn't work for five anymore, so let someone else take over the mantle that had so recently brought him to his knees. Praying that all the work that they'd put in together, to build what was now a loving and stable relationship, wouldn't be blown away as he'd searched for those bloody gloves. Hell bent on getting his revenge for Blake's betrayal, by sanctioning Ros's death, she hadn't dared ask him where he was going, or the inevitable how was he going to do it. What she didn't know couldn't hurt her, he'd said, had left her wondering if it would ever stop, or worse still, if she'd see him again.


	15. Chapter 15

_Three days later_

Harry had totally underestimated the strain on his body and his mind, that driving too and from Scotland in the space of three days would have. He'd left Sussex angry and fuelled by adrenaline, now it was pure willpower that was driving him home. That and a burning desire to feel Ruth's warm and comforting body against his. To be loved again, despite her knowing what he'd done. _Is there anything I can do for Ros?_ Blake had said. Had the man taken him for a complete fool? Well it was done now, as was he. Nothing on earth was going to drag him back into his previous life. He was cold and he was hungry and he was lost. Somewhere near Northampton, the latest mistake that had sent him off course, as he rubbed his tired eyes and tried to focus. Ahead of him, salvation in the form of the lights from what looked to be an all - night café of some kind would have to do. That or he'd fall asleep at the wheel.

'Hello mate,' from the cheery youth behind the counter, he barely acknowledged. Ordering himself a strong cup of coffee and a bacon sandwich, before heading towards the gents.

'I need to get cleaned up and change before I get home to the wife,' was justification to the only other customer, who was tucking into a huge plate of food that made Harry's stomach rumble. He did, it was all he needed, except that Ruth wasn't his wife, not yet anyway. Locking the door to ensure that no one came in, he stripped to the waist and washed as best he could. The temperature of the water causing a shiver to run through his sleep deprived body. Shaving would have to wait until he got home. That would be overkill in this less than pristine bathroom. Christ he looked a mess. He pulled out a clean shirt and jumper, discarding the ones that he intended throwing away later. Leaving them anywhere on the journey would amount to recklessness and he'd already shown his fair share of that.

By the the time he'd eaten the sandwich and drunk a second cup of coffee he felt marginally better, but he needed air. Air that didn't smell of the fried food that was permeating the room. With no more than a cursory nod to the other diner, he dragged himself to the counter and fished out a note, waving away the offer of change. Now outside he gulped it in, barely resisting the urge to revisit his breakfast. The range rover beckoned and with it the temptation to call Ruth, but that would be too risky given where he was. He turned on the radio. Anything to stop him from falling asleep. If he was lucky and could avoid outer London and the rush hour traffic he would be home in three hours. It was four o'clock in the morning.

'The previously disgraced Home Secretary Nicholas Blake, was found dead this morning at his home in Scotland. The cause of death has yet to be confirmed, but every indication suggests that he suffered a massive heart attack. The family solicitor has asked that his wife Julia be given privacy at this difficult time,' the newscaster was telling the nation, as Ruth deserted the washing up, having heard a car pull up in front of the garages. Surely this time it had to be him?

She'd heard nothing since he'd left, so Harry making his way through the yet to be tackled garden, with a face that suggested that he'd been out for a bloody loaf of bread, as opposed to what he'd really been doing and she was ready for a battle, except that she didn't have it in her, such was the relief. He was back in one piece and if they could only put this behind them, then life could finally get back to normal, whatever that was. A life that was being built on spontaneity, so different from the one they'd led on the grid, he lent in and kissed her and asked her to forgive him. How could she not, he was home, he was safe and that was all that mattered. Ten minutes later they were in bed. Her still wide awake, Harry fast asleep. His 'please don't leave me,' the last thing he said, meaning _ever._

Leave him _never, _but it came with a condition, as she lay watching his chest rise and fall. His dear stubble covered face, conveying nothing other than complete exhaustion. There would be no mileage to be gained from him attending Ros's funeral, only more pain, and they'd both had more than their fair share of that. Remembering her as she'd been, strong, confident and fearless to the end, they could do here, in private, together. Perhaps he'd agree to planting something in the garden as a memorial? A rosebush maybe, one that Harry could choose?

Whatever he'd done, she hadn't asked and for that he was truly grateful, as the next couple of weeks went on to prove and Blake's death became yesterday's news. Moving forward they continued to reinvent themselves, as they mapped out a new pathway to their future. The same two people but free from the service and it was life changing. Had their former colleagues been around to watch, a _wow is this really them_? would have rattled around the corridors of Thames House.

As far as Ruth was concerned, the past had been put to bed and Harry, the one she was in love with now, was all that mattered.

From Harry's point of view, he'd made up his mind that he still had some groundwork to put in, and today that meant literally. Ruth loved the garden, small but with masses of potential she'd said when he'd finally convinced her that the house was hers and she'd told him that the garden was equally important. Something that he was still struggling to comprehend as they uncovered what Ruth was describing as another treasure, that went under the heading of ground cover, not a weed. That it was west facing, tucked under the lea of the hills, which meant that as the weather started to warm up they'd be able to sit outside long into the evening, was incentive enough to keep him going. That and a now unfettered desire to make Ruth happy _and_ when the right moment arose, ask her to marry him.

That it included him patiently following her around the nearest plant nursery, where there were a lot of other somewhat less than interested partners, to him was pure pleasure.

'I just cut the lawn mate and generally do what I'm told,' one obviously long suffering husband told him, when his wife yelled at him to get a move on, they didn't have all day. Harry's nod of understanding, nothing more than a consolation as the man trailed away. There was no chance of him ever feeling like that, which was why tonight he intended taking Ruth out. Something he'd arranged as soon as he'd got back from his _trip_, as well as the call he'd previously made to Malcolm, asking him if he could use him as an alibi if he needed one, in exchange for a visit at the start of the cricket season in two weeks time. Another surprise for Ruth that he was keeping up his sleeve. Malcolm, not the cricket season. That might take a bit more persuading, he'd told their long term matchmaker.

_Eight hours later._

They were walking across the now deserted beach with the sun just dipping below the horizon, having had a meal at one of their favourite restaurants. Ruth had dressed for the occasion in a dress that she knew Harry loved, with just enough cleavage to keep him interested. Determined to be provocative, which had worked. Harry had barely taken his eyes off her all evening, or she him. Dressed casually, Harry was a turn on in anyone's books, well maybe not anyone's, but certainly hers. There was only one way that she wanted this evening to end and she was determined to make it happen.

'I still don't know what you see in me Ruth?' was as predictable as the sun that rose each morning, as he spun her around so that she was facing him, his eyes full of mischief. Teasing her was something that he'd developed since the day that he'd told her that he loved her and the night that he'd told her that the house was hers. Love came in many shapes and forms and slowly but surely, they'd both learnt how to pull each other's strings to their advantage. She knew how it was and she'd accepted it. It was part of the dance that was keeping their relationship exciting. True love at whatever age you were was precious, and if this was their way of hanging onto what was uniquely theirs, then so be it. Tonight though, it was different. She knew it was another of Harry's bridge building exercises, which meant that she needed him to think that he was winning. Knowing exactly what would work, she backed away from him, daring him to come after her, which of course he did. His eyes full of desire, challenging her to stand her ground or to run.

'Apart from your body, eyes that I want to die looking into and your unrivalled no longer wanting to save the world attitude, absolutely nothing,' she challenged him, standing firm. Daring him in the same way that he was daring her, her chest now rising and falling at the same alarming rate as his.

Nothing more nothing less, she had everything that she'd ever wanted, as she picked up a metaphorical piece of driftwood and drew another of her endless lines in the sand that said she'd forgive him anything. Providing he didn't say sorry again and make love to her when they got home, as opposed to on the beach here and now, which was perilously close to happening as he pulled her hard against him.

Harry in this kind of mood was irresistible and they'd barely made through the front door, before he'd said bed. It wasn't as though he'd very drunk much, it was pure adrenaline or lust in this case and she knew it. She didn't care, or the fact that she been party to it happening and she intended giving him anything that he wanted, and more if they had they energy. Sleep, who needed sleep? It wasn't as though they had anyone but each other to get up for in the morning.


	16. Chapter 16

Malcolm wasn't usually one to worry, but since Harry had called he'd been worried sick. An alibi in Scotland, had morphed into panic when he'd heard that that Blake had been found dead. Coincidence never, Harry had to have been involved, there could be no other reasonable explanation. Worse still, it was the second day that neither he or Ruth were answering their phones. Impatience and a real concern for both of them and he was packing his bags. He was going back to Sussex. The fact that he was going to arrive a week earlier than invited was down to British Rail. Trains from Inverness to London were being suspended after today. Something to do with repairs around Birmingham. Fine in theory, but the closer he got to London, the more he was wondering if maybe he was over reacting. Surely Harry wouldn't have been stupid enough to throw Ruth back into the wilderness, with the notion that killing Blake would make a difference? It never did. There was always another self -interested bastard who would put status or cash in front of duty. By the time he reached Victoria, having been buffeted from pillar to post by the hoards that were boarding the train for Eastbourne, his temper had reached the same level as his anxiety.

Now though having paid the taxi driver, he was wiling away the time by sitting at the back of the house on what looked like a new patio, admiring the changes to the garden. Harry's range rover was parked outside the garage, but that didn't mean that they were here. The curtains were still drawn, which was odd given it was eleven in the morning and he'd had no response when he'd knocked on the door. Maybe they'd gone shopping, or for a walk? There were endless explanations for their absence. Miles away and contemplating what he should do next, he was momentarily distracted by the smallest of movements that caused him to look up. Immediately wishing he hadn't.

After the night that they'd had, one that Harry had told Ruth he'd remember for the rest of his days, they'd slept in. Revelling in the prospect of another lazy day, they were finishing a very late breakfast in bed. Leave it she'd told him when he'd suggested that he ought to go downstairs and see who was hammering on the door. It wasn't unusual anymore, they'd got to know their neighbours, and if it was important, whoever it was would come back. Harry wasn't so certain.

'Well this is a nice surprise,' came five minutes later out of sheer devilment, as Harry opened the door to a red – faced Malcolm whose mouth was opening and closing, as he tried to look anywhere other than at a bare legged Harry, whilst at the same time trying to erase the graphic picture that was developing behind his eyes.

'I um,' came with the flailing of his right arm and the suggestion that he was he going to bow and call Harry Your Lordship.

'Ruth's still in the shower, she'll be down in a moment,' just piled on the agony, as Harry ushered him into the kitchen with the offer of a cup of coffee.

He should have been pleased, this was what he'd been trying to encourage for years, but in the flesh so to speak it wasn't that easy. Harry on the other hand seemed to be perfectly relaxed, and he was sure that the wretched man was smiling, despite the fact he had his back to him.

His relief came in the shape of Ruth, who replaced Harry. Having had her shower at breakneck speed, she'd rapidly searched for something comfortable and ordinary to wear. The dress from the previous evening well hidden. She'd been listening to the conversation and Harry was either making a pig's bloody breakfast of it, or milking it for all it was worth. It was one thing to tease her, but someone had to save poor Malcolm.

'Fifteen minutes,' she'd whispered to the still grinning Harry, giving him a peck on the cheek as he passed her on the stairs. The last few minutes of which, Harry had spent standing at the same window, this time with the curtains fully open. He had a front row seat at the theatre, except that the actors didn't know he was watching them. Ruth and Malcolm with their arms linked, were wandering around what was in all honesty was her garden. He had no idea what she was saying to him but she looked so at ease, able to cope in a way that would have been inconceivable when he'd first fallen in love with her. In a world of her own, one that he could finally inhabit and enjoy. He had everything that he wanted - well almost. He wanted to make a commitment, one that this time he would honour. He wanted to marry Ruth and he wanted it to be soon. Call him old fashioned and he probably was, but marriage to Ruth had become important. It was what she wanted as well, he was sure of it. His only questions, the where and the when he was going to ask her.

It was the later on the same day that Malcolm and Ruth were out in the garden again, while Harry, not quite banished to the kitchen for his sins, was preparing their meal. It had been a day when they'd avoided talking about them, or what they'd been doing since he'd last seen them and had let Malcolm take centre stage. Now it was his turn to demand a story.

'Ruth you're like newlyweds and as much as I'd like to stay here, I've booked myself a room at the pub for the week,' went without protest.

Malcolm was right, they were, 'except that we're not,' should have brought an end to it. But she was talking to the man who'd been invested in this situation for as long as he could remember, and had spent the entire day watching them. Yes, they'd both listened to his meanderings, but there'd been no disguising the looks and the quiet gestures that had passed between them. They'd let him into their world, and that was a rare privilege.

'But you will say yes when he asks you?' Was an unnecessary question, but he was comfortable now and enjoying the banter. Maybe his last chance to push this more confident Ruth into submission.

'Has Harry said something to you?' Was met by one of his wry smiles. _Of course he hadn't, this was Harry. _'What makes you think that he will?' Required an answer.

'Call it intuition, but in the meantime?' and Ruth looked at him head on.

'Meantime's fine, but then I think you already know that Malcolm,' brought a halt to the conversation, as the man of the moment arrived with their drinks.

_One month later._

Unconventional to a fault, Harry had chosen a visit to the graveyard where she was supposedly buried, to ask her to marry him. That they'd have to keep up the facade, the only legacy from their previous life, was a given. He'd told a smiling Gerald and Grace that they'd become, _close_ was how he'd worded it. Whether or not he'd noticed Gerald's raised eyebrows and beaming smile, which had been overtaken by Grace's overwhelming burst of enthusiasm at their news, insisting that they had another drink to celebrate before they leave, had become irrelevant by the time they'd said their goodbyes. Promising to come and see them at some time in the future, when Grace had pleaded.

Harry had suggested a short walk. Much the same as he'd done on the day when he'd first brought her here, except that this was a different Harry. One who was confident of the answer and head over heels with the woman that was walking alongside him. The sun was shining and whether or not he'd planned it or it was spontaneous, Ruth no longer cared. They'd been leaning against the fence, her looking across the field in front of her, when he'd put his hand on her back and lent in. No warning, no endearments, just marry me Ruth. She hadn't needed to say yes, the look of pure joy on her face had confirmed it.

Now though a week later they had a small problem, one which as far as Harry was concerned, didn't have an answer. You couldn't get married without two witnesses and he was buggered if he was going to drag someone that they didn't know off the street. It was going to be their special day and OK so they had Malcolm, but they could hardly ask Wes. Wes who had started asking questions about his parents. Questions that both his grandparents and his head teacher hadn't been able to answer, was the reason they were debating the question, whilst on their way to collect him and bring him to stay with them for a few days.

Of all those that had been lost to Harry, Ruth knew that Adam's death had been the most difficult for him to deal with. She also knew that it wasn't entirely down to Wes being orphaned. There had been a vulnerability and gentleness to Adam that paralleled his own. Something which Harry now acknowledged, but sometimes struggled to cope with, whereas she loved him for it. When she'd been exiled, Adam had eased him through the pain of losing her, just as he had him when Fiona had been killed. Colleagues who had become close friends through loss, made for a powerful bond.

Unlike Harry she'd only met Wes twice. Once at Adam's flat and once when she'd delivered a meal to Harry when he'd been suspended. Harry always underestimates himself when it comes to the influence he has on people, especially the younger generation, Adam had told her. Wes worships his Uncle Harry.

'Spin the wheel and Catherine is the obvious choice for our other witness, it just needs you to ask her Harry,' she whispered, giving him something else to wrap his mind around, as the now teenage boy that she hadn't seen for nearly four years, looking more like his father than ever, walked down the corridor with a broad smile on his face.

Anything with chips, that's what Wes wanted. Apart from his usual school dinners he liked anything, which by the end of the second day also included Ruth. Harry had taken him to watch a one - day cricket match between Sussex and Kent. A breaking the ice exercise and a chance for him to assess Wes's frame of mind. They were home now, Ruth busy in the kitchen, with the promise of steak and chips in ten minutes. Something that pleased both the returning cricket enthusiasts.

They'd already been told that Wes kept snapshots in his head, some of which were vivid, but with huge blanks around the time that both his mum and his dad had been killed. Broaching the subject was fraught with problems and they needed Wes to start it.

'It's hard for me at school because I have to lie to my friends. I tell them that my Mum and Dad were killed in a plane crash, which they weren't. Grandma says she doesn't know the answers, but you do Uncle Harry, I _know_ you do. I know what my Mum and Dad did for a living, but what I don't know is what a spy does and I need you to tell me.'

It was a crushing statement, one that Harry had heard before from his own children and he was temporarily floored. Ruth less so, because the question hadn't been directed at her. She'd told Harry that they'd deal with this together and she saw an opening, as she searched for the right words and bought herself some time, by moving from where she was sitting so she could hold Wes's hand.

'Spies are ordinary people Wes, just like your Uncle Harry,' and she'd got his attention. 'If you can imagine James Bond, but without all the glamour, the fast cars and jumping out of aeroplanes without parachutes every five minutes, then that's what your mum and dad were like. Most importantly they _cared, _which meant they needed to be brave and strong. Between them they saved hundreds of peoples lives. There will always be bad people in the world who want to hurt others and there will always be people like your mum and dad who want to stop them. Does that help at all?'

It did, because there was the briefest hint of recognition in his eyes, but the gap still needed filling.

'More than anything sweetheart, your mum and dad loved you and if you need to talk about them at any time, or even if you don't, your Uncle Harry and I will always be here for you. Wont we?' Was meant for Harry.

* * *

Harry would have given Ruth the earth if she'd asked it of him, but then of course she hadn't. She wanted what she had now. Harry standing next to her as her husband.

They'd chosen a weekday so as to attract less attention, to be standing side by side in front of the vicar. Harry calm as a cucumber, Ruth equally so. Looks that had once been covert in the extreme, now breathtakingly open in adoration. Pin dropping didn't do it justice. Without razzmatazz, without music, it was as Ruth had once described - simple and elegant.

'Here,' whispered Catherine to Malcolm, pressing a handkerchief into his hand. It was time for her father's vows to Ruth and she could see that he was struggling.

The rest of the arrangements were equally uncomplicated. She'd seen to that. Thrilled to bits that her Dad had finally found happiness, she'd stuck to the letter when it came to what he'd asked of her. In the half an hour or so before they'd left for the church, the lunch and drinks had been set up at the house. It was about them and the people they cared about. Her father didn't want a lot of outsiders that they barely knew, gate crashing the party. She pressed him she really had, but she still had absolutely no idea where her father intended taking Ruth on their honeymoon. Somewhere warm with a clear blue sea was as far as he'd got to telling her. In the end it was sufficient that he'd told her how much he loved her and wanted her to be part of his new life with Ruth.

* * *

They'd come full circle from the time that Ruth had sailed away from him until now. It was where he'd come at a time when he'd been at his lowest ebb, whereas now he was walking on air. The gods had been kind to them and it was a beautiful summer's evening, so they were outside in the garden, just as he'd planned it to be. He ached for her with every bone in his body, as he watched her chatting to his daughter, as naturally as she breathed, while somewhere in the background, Wes was telling Malcolm one of his silly jokes. They were family - all of them.

Two more hours and they'd be on their own and he could finally ask his wife to dance with him. Until then, he intended putting to memory, every second of this most perfect of days.


End file.
